The Lute Maker's Daughter
by Dyscord
Summary: Strangers are rare in Locksley, and musicians rarer still. So when a brazen woman strode into town, she attracted more attention than she bargained for...
1. Chapter 1

Title: The Lute Maker's Daughter

Rating: PG13

Summary: Strangers are rare in Locksley, so when a brazen woman strolled into town, lute slung across her back, she attracted more attention than she bargained for...

Hello everyone! This is the first chapter of my very first Robin Hood fanfic. The character and story were concieved just after the first season, so there will be no spoilers or references to events taking place in the second season. This first segment is an introduction, and as such is quite short. Im expecting later chapters to be a little longer than this. I welcome comments and suggestions, if you have any. Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoy!

I suppose I should begin with a disclaimer: I don't claim to own these characters, who are based off of the BBC version of Robin Hood. No money is being made and no copyright infringement intended.

Enjoy!

-------------------------

CHAPTER ONE

Wednesday should be market day, but not a soul was peddling his wares on this grey morning in Locksley. Despondent villagers plodded to and fro in the unpaved mud streets, exchanging neither smiles nor goods. Cowed by the ubiquitous armed guards, the villagers scurried on their ways, their eyes never leaving the ground in front of them.

All except one. She was reclining awkwardly on a hill, leaning against a leather pack, one knee up to support the grubby lute settled across her lap. She strummed lazily at her instrument as she surveyed the scene before her. A few of the citizens glanced curiously at her as they passed, for strangers were rare in Locksley, and women never travelled alone. She looked to be in her mid twenties. Her face was pleasant enough, neither ugly nor especially pretty, with an angular jaw and a sharp little nose. Her eyes and hair were dark, and her skin tanned like a peasant girl, yet she held herself with the poise of a lady.

The music was quiet but well played and melodious, accompanied by the woman's mellow timbrous humming. It was interrupted by a man's voice, curious and approving.

"That's not bad. Where'd you learn to play like that?"

The woman jumped slightly, shaken from her dreams as she strummed. "Oh. My Dad taught me. He made lutes, my dad."

The man, ginger haired with a spark of mischief in his blue eyes, threw himself down on the bank beside her. She noted he wore his hood up to shade his face, and eyed him with some suspicion. He seemed perfectly friendly, however, and genuinely interested in the lute.

"Yeah? My uncle played a tin whistle, but I never saw a lute this nice. Go on, play something else."

The woman half-smiled, and strummed a well-known melody, picking the notes out with her deft little fingers.

"Is there much trade in lute making? For your father?" The ginger-haired man asked curiously, talking over the tune.

"Not anymore. In lean times like this, even the nobles don't spend coin too freely, and music is a luxury few peasants can afford. He couldn't afford to keep me, so I've come looking for a job as court musician."

He laughed. "What, for the Sheriff? Listen, love, the man isn't likely to hire a woman or a musician, and even if he was you wouldn't want to work for him. If you know what's good for you you'll find a good husband to look after you."

She stopped playing abruptly, annoyed. "I neither want nor need a man to 'look after me'. If the Sheriff will not hire me then I'll find someone who will."

He shrugged. "What's your name?"

"I don't tell my name to shady strangers in hoods," she snapped, still irritated by his 'husband' remark.

"Look, I work for Robin Hood, alright? I'm passing out the latest loot, and you looked hungry, so I've brought you some coin," He told her impatiently, discretely pressing a small leather pouch into her hand. "So, whoever-you-are, take this to tide you over until you find a job or a husband, alright?" She had the grace to look abashed, and tried to return his pouch.

"I don't want charity. I mean, thank you and all," she added, a slight blush on her cheeks, "but save this for someone who needs it."

He was on his feet before she could force him to take the purse back. "You're far too proud for a musician. Keep it. We've been doing well lately, anyway." He winked at her, then tweaked his hood forward to more fully cover his face.

Hoofbeats rang through the air, approaching on two sides. The man jumped and whipped around to face half a dozen armed soldiers and one well-dressed noble with cold, black eyes. "Well, well," he sneered, drawing his sword. "I didn't think it would be this easy. You outlaws are getting careless."

Allan swallowed. "Sir Guy."


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

Sir Guy swung down off his horse and swaggered towards Allan like a wolf approaching its prey, savoring the victory.

"The day after I have a chest of taxes stolen off the northern road, and what do I find? A grubby hooded stranger passing out bags of coins in the town. You'd think you could have laid low for a few days before your usual heroics."

"Now that... that is just... I don't even know what you're talking about, mate, I really don't. I was just..." Allan's hand inched towards his sword hilt.

Guy spotted it . "Keep your hands where I can see them or I'll cut you down where you stand, outlaw!" he shouted.

"'Ere, what're you threatenin' my 'usband for?" The lute player snapped in a false brazen cockney accent, striding forward and taking Allan's arm, surprising him as much as Gisbourne.

"Your husband?" Guy sneered, looking her up and down with obvious distaste.

"That's right. 'E was just giving me a few coins to go into town and buy a bit 'o beef for supper. He's no outlaw, my lord I promise you, he hasn't the brains."

"That's all it is, my lord," said Allan, catching on quickly. "Just a few coppers for the shopping."

Guy looked her up and down. "If you are his wife," he asked acidly "Why aren't you wearing a ring?"

The woman was caught off guard for a moment, and Allan swept in. "You think she's daft enough to wear her valuables in the marketplace, what with these outlaws around every corner?"

"No," said Guy softly. "I think you're both lying to me. You see, I could swear I'd seen you running at Robin Hood's heels. Perhaps I should take you in for... questioning. You too," he added, turning to the woman. "Hood's been known to take women into his gang. You are both suspects."

However, he was cut short by a reverberant thud as a heavy wooden lute collided with his face.

"RUN!" Shouted Allan, taking her by the arm. She needed no encouragement. They darted past the slow armoured guards and scarpered towards the nearby houses, a cluster of arrows sailing over their heads.

"Split up!" Gasped the girl, "We'll never lose them together."

"I can't leave you alone with a pack of them!" Allan insisted.

"You don't have a choice, they'll catch us both!" She shouted at him, and took off in the opposite direction. An arrow sailed past Allan's ear, and he lost his nerve, tearing down the road away from her.

Her lute swung over her shoulder, the girl shot down the lane as fast as her legs could carry her, bent low to avoid the arrows. Not low enough; One straight arrow flew true, in a delicate arc downwards, catching her on the lower calf. She let out a cry of shock and pain, losing her footing and sprawling forward wildly. Time seemed to stop, and for a long moment she lay still, too shocked by pain and surprise to react. Squinting up through the dust she could make out the silhouettes of the guards standing over her. A boot struck her painfully in the temple and she lost consciousness.

Ooooooooo

Robin Hood, outlaw lord of Sherwood Forest, was pleased with himself.

He had successfully stolen a large chest of gold and silver peices right from under Gisbourne's nose. The robbery had gone off without a hitch, with the taxman and guards running home to the Sheriff with their tails between their legs, to explain to Vaysey exactly how the great Robin Hood had parted them from his ill-gotten gains. Even now, Will, Much, and Allan were distributing the wealth in the various villages of Nottinghamshire, and Robin could just picture Vaysey seething with rage at yet another loss.

Overall, Robin was insufferably pleased with himself.

He was sitting on a hill to the east of Locksley, watching the village below him go about its business, waiting for his gang to return. He was in no hurry. He liked to sit on this perch, watching the comings and goings of his village.

"Master!" Much's voice broke through his smug reverie, and he greeted his former servant jovially.

"Well, Much, did you empty your money bag?"

"I did, and so did Will. He'll be along in a minute. Still no sign of Allan, though."

"He probably stopped in the pub for an ale and a game. Sit down, we have time to wait."

Much made quite a business of rearranging his pack and sword and settling himself beside Robin. "You're in a good mood today," he observed.

"And why should I not be? We've had weeks of fruitful crime and no incident to speak of. I think even the poor are looking better."

"Well, it won't last, I think," Much said, idly playing with the grass. "No, the Sheriff will think up some revolting new scheme and it will all start again, mark my words."

"Much," said Robin, irritated "Just for once, can you just enjoy this day and not dread the next?" Much was about to make reply when Will's head became visible over a grassy knoll.

"Hello, Will," chirped Robin. "How did it go?"

"Well enough. Are we all back yet?"

"Allan's still loitering about," Much said grumpily "But he'll be--"

"HOOD!" Gisbourne's enraged voice ripped through the summer calm. Robin, Will, and Much stood bolt upright, eyes drawn to Gisbourne's distant figure. He stood in the village square, caked blood down one nostril, his face red with rage, shouting a challenge to the man he rarely saw but knew was always there.

"WE HAVE THE WOMAN, HOOD!" He shouted. "WE CAUGHT ONE OF YOUR GANG SKULKING AROUND THE VILLAGE, AND SHE WILL SUFFER AND HANG, MAKE NO MISTAKE."

"Djaq," whispered Will, white as a ghost. "Robin, he's got Djaq."

"Hang on a minute," hissed Robin. "He said he caught her in the Village, and Djaq's still back at the camp. What's he talking about?"

"Robin!" Allan came charging up the hill, face red and gasping for breath. "Gisbourne... in the village..."

"He's got Djaq, we know." Will's voice shook with rage.

"Djaq?" Allan said, bewildered. "No, not Djaq. A woman... a traveller... he assumed she was with me. She's a stranger, but he thinks she's from our gang."

"Whoa, whoa, slow down a moment," Robin patted Allan's shoulder. "Tell me everything."

"I told you this would happen, Master," spat Much bitterly. "I told you."

oooooooooo

First there was the dull heaviness of her head, the irresistible call of sleep and the sick feeling of blood on her brow. Then the pain in her leg began nagging her, gently at first and then growing towards a sharp call to consciousness. Finally, there was a sudden shock of cold and Lillian awoke to find she'd been drenched in a bucket of cold water.

"Ah. That did it. Awake now, aren't you dear?" the voice was dryly amused and cruelly sarcastic. "Gisbourne, did a creature this small really give you a bruise that large?"

"She took me by surprise, my Lord," Sir Guy said sullenly.

"Excuses, excuses. Get her to her feet." the Sheriff ordered lazily, and she felt herself being pulled up by her arms and half-supported by two guards. With effort she managed to focus on the faces before her.

"She doesn't look like any of Robin's lot, Gisbourne. Are you sure?"

"She was protecting a known member of Hood's gang."

"Yes, you mentioned," said Vaysey thoughtfully. "But she has no tag."

"Perhaps she lost it, my lord? Or threw it away to avoid a tougher sentence. It's just like Hood, recruiting women," Gisbourne sneered.

Vasey tilted the girl's chin up with one cold fingertip. "What is your name, girl?"

Her tongue felt large and heavy in her dry mouth, but she managed to choke out; "Lillian... Lillian of Westershire. I'm just an entertainer, sir... a musician. I'm no outlaw."

"You lied to protect that common theif. Why?" Gisbourne demanded.

Despite her pounding head, Lillian gave a small grin. "I'm not sure... he seemed like a nice bloke."

Vaysey's lip curled. "You risked your life, attacked the lord of the local manor, got shot and then captured all because a complete stranger 'seemed like a nice bloke'? Oh, talk sense woman. Where is Hood?"

"Never heard of him," Lillian laughed. Gisbourne struck her across her bruised temple and she cried out.

"Come on, Gisbourne, we only just got her to wake up, don't put her out again," snapped Vaysey. He leaned in very close, his face inches away from hers. "We can make life very, very unpleasant for you, little girl. The irony is that we've no interest in you at all. Tell us what we want, and we have no reason to hurt you. We just want Hood. It is in your best interest to help us with this, believe me." He backed off. "Take her to the dungeon while her head clears, and give her time to consider my offer. If she does not give me something useful by tomorrow, she will suffer, and she will hang."

oooooooooooooo

"I do not wish to sound heartless, Robin, but could it be a trap?" Djaq asked, ever the pragmatist. "The Sheriff has planted actors for us before, tempting us to heroics and capturing us when we're vulnerable. This girl could be working for the Sheriff. After all, she is a stranger around here."

"It didn't feel like a trap," said Allan, shaking his head. "She was just a girl, minding her own business. She didn't have to help me."

"It's not your fault, Allan," Djaq said quietly.

"But she hasn't got a tag. The Sheriff will know she's not working for us, won't he?" Asked Will.

"Oh, I expect he'll know, he just won't care. He'll take any opportunity to get to me." Robin muttered.

"Which brings us right back to the 'trap' option." Djaq insisted. "Robin, Vaysey will expect us to come after her. And he'll remember all of our previous tricks from jailbreaks before. Getting her out will be most difficult, and probably just what the Sheriff wants."

"And if you're wrong, we're condemning an innocent woman to death," Much said.

"That doesn't mean we charge in with our eyes closed, Much," Djaq said loudly.

"That's enough." Robin's voice was soft, but intense. There was a moment of silence as the gang all looked to their leader. "Djaq has a point. We must keep our wits about us or we are lost. But the day we abandon even one life out of fear, we have lost our very hearts, and the Sheriff has won. I'll talk to Marian tonight, and see what new tricks we can think up. We will rescue this girl, but we will be vigilant and suspicious every step of the way. Is that clear?"

The gang took in a collective breath, in the moment of tense excitement that always preceded a direct attack on Vaysey and the system.

John stood first, his staff resting on his shoulders behind his head. He towered over the rest of them with a knowing smile.

"We go to Nottingham."


	3. Chapter 3

Thanks to everyone who reviewed, like all fic writers I thrive on comments.

Pig-the-Prophetess: Heh, thanks. I'm always pleased if I manage to make someone laugh. I always say, angst is just tiresome if you don't have humor to balance it It's really gratifying to receive such detailed commentary, so thanks for that.

Gewher: I'm so glad you enjoyed it! As for Allan/Lillian, I'm not giving away anything right now (shifty-eyes) but I'm saving romantic subplots mostly for the sequel I have planned.

CHAPTER 3

Marian, Robin thought, was even more beautiful at night. It was her complexion, milky-white in the moonlight which caught in her eyes and hair. Separation from her was becoming harder and harder these days, and when he did see her, he rarely had time to speak of anything but business. Still, he spared a moment to steal a kiss when she opened her window to meet him on her roof. She smiled and stroked his rough stubble with one thumb.

"I should call a guard for that insolence, Robin Hood."

"Oh, should you?" He asked with a grin.

"This once I will forgive you. What new scheme have you come to ask me about?"

Robin stared longingly at her lips. "Oh, I really wish we had more time to flirt, Marian, but you're right, there is business to discuss and not much time to do it in. Did you hear of the arrest yesterday?" Marian shook her head. "A woman, a minstrel, was caught helping Allan elude Gisbourne today, and the Sheriff will torture and hang her for aiding outlaws. I don't know how much time we have, so we must strike tonight, before the Sheriff has time to lay a trap. I need information, Marian, and I need it fast."

"Hang on a moment, let me think," Marian put her hand to her brow, disgruntled at being so rushed. "The west end of the castle will be the most heavily guarded, it is the closest to the dungeon, but the southern entrance is being used right now -- the sheriff is restocking the castle larder, and carts of food have been shipping through all day. Perhaps you could sneak through hidden in a cart?" She hazarded, knowing it was a weak plan.

"In the middle of the night? They will search the cart for sure," Robin sighed. "Any other ideas?"

"Robin I need more time! You can't just walk into the dungeon... wait," Marian paused, an idea dawning on her. "Maybe you can!" She disappeared back into the house, leaving Robin bewildered. He hopped through the window and followed her. She rustled through sheafs of parchment cluttered on her desk, pulled out a quill and began to write.

"What are you going on about, Marian?" He asked, peeking over her shoulder.

"Nottingham has the only full sized jail for miles around," Marion hissed as she scribbled. "The nobles of the surrounding villages are permitted its use for crimes perpetrated on their land. If I wished to make arrests at Knighton, the criminals would be sent to the Nottingham dungeons, accompanied by an official certificate of arrest, sealed and signed." She dripped the letter with sealing wax and stamped it with the Knighton seal. "Have one of your men pose as a prisoner, the rest as guards, and this will get you in." She hesitated. "Once he's in, however, only the Sheriff can order his release, so you must be careful."

Robin reached for the certificate, but Marian held it back. "Robin, I don't need to tell you what will happen to myself or my father if the Sheriff gets hold of this. I am trusting you with my secrecy. Burn this as soon as you can spare it."

"Do not worry. It will be safe, my love," Robin said tenderly, gifting her with another kiss, one that lingered a little longer than the first. "I've got to go. Take care."

"Good luck!" Marion called after him as he swung himself down from her roof and ran off into the night.

Oooooooooooooooooooooo

Lillian's head, though aching and bleeding, was no longer as fuzzy and blurred as it had been in the Sheriff's study. The sickness and confusion had faded, only to be replaced by dumb terror. How stupid she had been! Protecting a known outlaw whose name she didn't even know. How could she have been so foolish? For all she knew, he had murdered a dozen children in order to earn his outlaw status. Lillian dismissed that thought as soon as it occurred to her, however. No, this man may not have been honest, but he was not evil, something in his eyes had told her that, and she had seen enough of the Sheriff's handiwork to realize that crime, in this shire, was something of a necessity. Deep down, under her fear, she was proud of having helped the man in the hood. Even so, she sure wasn't willing to hang for him.

She had more immediate problems to attend to. They hadn't bothered to remove the arrow from her calf when they threw her in her cell, and although much of the shaft had been broken off in the struggle, few inches of wood still protruded from her leg. She gingerly explored the wound with her fingers. This was not going to be fun.

Sitting with her injured leg crossed in front of her, Lillian took her ankle in one hand and the shaft in the other, and began to pull. The pain hit her in an instant and she gasped audibly, releasing the shaft out of reflex. She took a shuddering breath and took hold of it again, more determined this time. With a pitiful growl of pain, she ripped the arrowhead free of her flesh. She let the arrow clatter to the floor and pressed both hands to the wound, moaning softlly and gasping for breath. She let herself fall to one side, gripping the wound, gritting her teeth and waiting for the wave of nausea to pass. When recovered enough to sit up and act, she tied the wound tightly but roughly with a section of cloth torn from the hem of her skirt.

An hour passed, maybe more, as the darkness swallowed up the minutes in quiet dread. Sometimes she could hear the jailer pacing down the hall, or another inmate weeping. Lillian's mind was still a little sluggish from the head wound, but it was working as hard as it could on an escape plan, though not many useful ideas came to her. She picked the broken arrow off the stone floor, and turned it over in her hands, flaking off her own dried blood. She quickly dismissed the idea of picking the lock with it - even if she knew how, it was too thick to be precise enough. The head was quality steel, however, and she tested it with her thumb: razor sharp still. She smiled for the first time in hours, and slipped the precious arrow into her sleeve.

Lillian stood, and limped to the cage door, draping herself against the bars in what she hoped was a casual, approachable gesture. Then, slowly, a mournful hum rose from her throat, growing to a smooth, wavering song. She had a voice like a low note on a cello, breathy and sweet with just a hint of roughness to it. The song dripped like honey from her lips and echoed eerily down the stone hallway, growing more and more haunting with each echo until it reached the ears of the jailer.

"Shall I go walk the wood so wild,

Wand'ring, wand'ring here and there,

As I was once full sore beguild,

Alas! for love I die with woe.

Wearily blows the winter wind,

Wand'ring, wand'ring here and there,

My heart is like a striken hind,

Alas! for love I die with woe."

If magic is real, than surely it exists in song, and Lillian was a sorceress of the note. Whatever the reason, the song took the interest of even the sallow-skinned, cruel-hearted jailer, who poked his hooked nose around the corner, looking at her strangely.

"Is this a trick?" was all he could think to say.

"I'm a woman condemned to die," Lillian answered, "Song is my last joy. If you think it a trick, then ignore me. Leave."

But the jailer did not leave, as she knew he wouldn't. "See, normally new inmates try something, try to pick the lock or break the door or something else foolish. If it's a lady, she tries to charm me - as though it ever works. I never had a singer in the dungeon before. You sure its not a trick?" he asked, taking a few more tentative steps towards her.

Just a little closer... come on... just a few steps closer...

"Um, no," she answered, swiftly hiding her momentary distraction. "I'm a musician by trade... or at least I would be if I were to live past the morning..."

The jailer was unmoved by her unsubtle hints. He talked to the doomed every day. "Sing that one, oh you know the one, it goes like 'There were three brothers... something something... turned robber on the salt sea'" He hummed a rough tune, though his voice was terrible. "Oh, come on, everybody knows that song," he added, impatient.

"I can't quite hear you," she said, gesturing to him to come closer. "How did the tune go again?"

The foolish little man took two steps closer to the cell, and Lillian's arm shot out between the bars and grasped him by his hair, smashing his face against the door as she whipped out the broken arrow peice and pressed the arrowhead to his throat.

"You were right," she snarled. "It was a trick."

"You foul little witch, I'll see you hanged for this!" The jailer whined. Lillian pressed the arrow just a little harder, so a few drops of blood dripped down the arrow and mingled with her own.

"I'll hang tomorrow anyway, and it doesn't matter to me if it is for outlawry or murder. Reach down, slowly, and take the ring of keys from your belt."

"You can go to Hell. You're a woman, you don't have the guts to kill me," the jailer hissed, though he sounded more confident than he felt.

"Perhaps not. Would you like to find out?" She gave the arrow a twist, and the jailer whimpered slightly. "Take your keys and unlock this cell, or you'll be the first man in Nottingham to be killed by an arrow not loosed from a bow."

With shaking hands, the jailer complied, and the lock made an echoing clunk sound as the door came free. With a grin, Lillian gave the door a shove so that the iron bars struck the jailer hard on the head, knocking him out. She stood in silence for a moment, considering her next move, unable to quite believe that it had been so easy. She leant over the unconscious jailer and picked up his keys, pocketed them, and limped for the exit as quickly as her wounded legs could carry her.

oooooooooooooooooooo

"Why do I have to be the prisoner again?" complained Allan-A-Dale as he was led, manacled, Robin holding one arm, Will holding the other (both dressed, of course, in the cumbersome chainmail and face-obscuring helmets of two unlucky guards.)

"Just look at you," teased Robin under his breath. "You've spent half your life in jails, and it shows. Just act the way you normally do in this situation."

"Yeah? I should kick you in the jewels and make a run for it?"

"Please don't," chipped in Will. "Shut up a moment, you two, the sentry is coming."

The sentry was a large man, overfed on both meat and power. He looked down on the three men and sniffed. "What business have you iin the castle?"

"This man was caught breaking into the Knighton estate," said Will sharply. "We're bringing him to the dungeons."

"Here is his certificate of arrest," Robin piped up, presenting Marian's forged note. The sentry looked it up and down, and nodded. "You can pass."

"With respect sir, we'd like to keep the certificate," Robin insisted. The guard raised an eyebrow, puzzled. "Sir Edward is concerned about forgeries, and doesn't like to have his seal passed around unprotected. You have seen it, and it is genuine, you can give it back to us and we will see it returned to Sir Edward."

The sentry sneered, but he wasn't fool enough to risk offense with a noble. He threw it back to them. "Go on, then."

Will snickered a little when they were out of earshot. "Nice one, Robin. Especially since it is a forgery."

Allan let out a breath slowly as they made their way across the courtyard. "That was too easy."

"The sheriff is concerned about people getting out of his dungeon, not getting in," Robin said. "The hard part comes later."


	4. Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR

Lillian had snuck down several passages, smugly pleased with her own stealthiness, before realising that she had been tracking blood from her heel all the way from the dungeon, leaving a neat little trail for the guards to follow. She suppressed a scream of frustration, before veering off into an empty room to tidy up her leg and staunch the blood. It had slowed to a gradual ooze, but refused to stop altogether; not being a medical woman, Lillian did not know if this was a good or bad sign. She simply tied the wound tighter with a second scrap of cloth and kept moving.

Keep moving, yes, that was the key. Any minute the jailer might regain consciousness or a guard might stray down into the dungeons and raise the alarm. She needed to run, get as far away from this cursed place as she could, slip out some back entrance and never look back. Planning her course, she backtracked a few feet, and took a different coridoor, one heading in the opposite direction of her footprints. Hopefully that would throw them off her for a while.

"D'you 'ere about the 'anging tomorrow? You goin'?" a rough voice asked conversationally, echoing distantly from another hallway. Lillian froze, judgin their distance by the sounds of their voices. They were heading her direction.

"Naw," a second guard replied. "You seen one hangin', you seen 'em all."

There were at least two of them and she was wounded... she didn't want to fight unless she absolutely had to. Her eyes flicked around the darkened hall, desperately. There was a heavy oaken door a few feet down the coridoor, but where it led she had no idea. She ran to it and tugged at the iron ring -- locked.

She pressed herself against the wood, slamming her palm against it in frustration. It refused to budge. But the guards were still approaching. Her hands pressed against her throat, where her unsuspecting fingers found... the keys! She had hung them on a cord around her neck, and whipped them off and began trying each one in succession on the locked door. She'd really only stolen them to lock the dungeon door after her, locking the jailer in and hopefully buy her a little time, and hadn't thought they could be useful in the castle. She prayed silently for one of them to fit the lock, fumbling with each key in turn.

Success! A flood of relief washed over her as she turned the key and slipped inside. She leaned her forehead against the rough wood and listened intently as the clattering of armor and footsteps echoed down the coridoor. She let out her breath in a long hiss, standing frozen for several long moments waiting for their voices to fade completely. She turned slowly, leaning her back against the door, and squinted at the dim room.

It was fairly small, lined on all sides by wooden racks filled with long pikes and halberds, tall enough to almost reach the ceiling. Chain mail hung on stands in the center of the room, and by the door was a shelf half-full of helmets. It was an armory for the courtyard garrison, fully stocked.

Wonderful, thought Lillian with a bitter laugh. Of all the places to hide, she was standing in the one room the guards were sure to come to sooner or later.

And, by the looks of it, sooner.

The guards' voices, which she had thought were fading, were growing again, and at least two of them were standing outside the door. Lillian grabbed her keys and rushed to the door, only just managing to lock it before the guards rattled at the iron ring.

"'Ere, is someone in there?" the guard shouted through the door, and Lillian's ragged breath caught in her throat. She could hear keys jingling on the other side of the door - they were getting in now whether she liked it or not. She needed a weapon and a plan, and she had neither.

Well, she had weapons, at least, however useless they seemed. The courtyard garrison used pikes and halberds, long shafted weapons that had wide reach outdoors but were too unweildy for indoor combat. Good God, Lillian thought, was there not a single sword in this damn armory? A halberd would have to do.

She lifted one awkwardly from its rack and faced the door, hands shaking, sweaty palms slick against the wood. This was insane, she kept thinking. This is suicide.

The door was thrown open, and Lillian braced herself for the insane suicide that was to come.

ooooooooooooooo

It's an unfair stigma that castle guards in Nottingham must face, that they are as cruel and unfair as the lords they serve. Some are bullies, it is true, but most are just men looking for work in a shire where work was scarce. They are regular, everyday countrymen working as little as possible to make their coin. Djaq used to think they were simply stupid, that they let the outlaws slip through their fingers so often out of sheer idiocy. These days she wondered whether it was just laziness. The Sheriff payed them poorly, shouted at them and abused them -- why should they lift a finger to help him?

So when Djaq, John, and Much rode through the south gate on a vegetable cart, dressed as farmers, they weren't worried about being recognized. Sure, one was a giant, one was the only Saracen this side of the world, and the third had lived in Nottinghamshire his entire life, but recognizing them would mean calling the rest of the guard, fighting, chasing them, and probably losing them anyway. It was easier just to let them through; it wasn't like the Sheriff was watching.

"Hang on," one of the younger and more energetic guards said. "I'd better check your cart." He threw back the dirty cloth wagon covering to examine the contents in the back of the wagon. Hundreds of turnips looked back at him unimpressively.

"All these are for the Sheriff's storeroom?" he asked unbelievingly. John shrugged innocently.

"He really, really likes turnips," he grunted. The guard waved them through, and Much spurred on the horses with a shake of the reigns.

"'He really likes turnips?' " Djaq echoed when they were out of earshot, a poorly-disguised grin on her lips. John smiled sheepishly.

"This will be the first time vegetables have gotten us into the castle," he remarked. She snorted softly with laughter.

"Just run this past me again," Much said edgily, and Djaq and John sighed, irritated. "So we wait in the courtyard for how long?"

"Until we hear Robin's signal," Djaq said. "Then we rush to his aid, and escape on the cart. It's quite simple, Much."

"What kind of a signal will he send?" Much insisted, glancing about nervously. "Will he, I don't know, call our names or something? I don't want to miss it."

"We'll know when we hear it," John snapped. "Knowing Robin, it will probably be some showoff trick with the bow."

Much nodded. "You know, one of these days he's going to miss his target with one of those tricks and accidentally skewer someone."

"Quit worrying," Djaq said shortly. "Pull the cart into the corner and we'll wait."

A castle staffed with happy, busy guards might have been interested to know why a vegetable cart was parked in the corner of the southern courtyard, sitting still rather than heading in to unburden itself of its hundreds of superfluous turnips. But to the tired, underfed, belligerant Nottingham guard, asking what they were doing there meant walking all the way over there and interrogating them, which was more work than they wanted to do unless their boss was watching. Somebody else would do it.

oooooooooooooooo

Sheriff Vaysey gripped the back of the chari in front of him until his knuckles went white. His face was gradually turning a deep shade of puce, and with every strained word he showed his imperfect teeth in an animalistic growl.

"What do you mean, gone?" He hissed. In an explosion not unlike a three-year-old's tantrum, he knocked the chair over and turned on Guy, spittle flying from his face as he shouted at the top of his lungs. "Expain to me how it is possible that a girl, that tiny little nothing you had dragged in yesterday has escaped already? Just how incompetent can you possibly be, Gisbourne?"

Sir Guy seethed silently to himself, but he was an expert at withstanding the Sheriff's wild abuse. "My lord," he said in a low, dangerous voice, "She was imprisoned in your dungeon, guarded and locked up like all the prisoners are. I couldn't have known-"

"It is your job to know, Gibourne," The Sheriff snarled, "She was the bait, the best chance we had of catching Hood in a misguided rescue, and you couldn't even keep her in her cage!" To Guy's relief, Vaysey turned his attention to his birds instead of continuing his rampage. He held a finch in his cupped hands, rubbing the tiny bird's head against his cheek. It was the only thing that could take him down a little from a rage like this. There was a short, tense silence.

"Has anyone entered the castle grounds since she was taken in?" The Sheriff's brain was working at a mile a minute, and as his rage began to subside his eyes narrowed in thought. This was when Vaysey was at his most dangerous, his most calculating.

"Nobody of import, my lord," Gisbourne answered. "A few shipments of food have come in for the storeroom, I think."

Vaysey smiled like a snake. "And has anyone left?" he asked.

Gisbourne shook his head. "Not by the main entrances, no my lord."

"And you didn't think to mention this before?" Vaysey persisted under a thin veil of manners. "The girl is small. She is weak and injured, and she was stupid enough to be caught. Do you really think she could have escaped the dungeons on her own?"

"You think Hood was in the castle?" Guy asked uncertainly, cautious of another outburst. The Sheriff shook his head.

"No, Gisbourne, I think he is still in the castle, skulking around with the woman in tow."

"Then we have trapped him after all," Gisbourne breathed.

Vaysey nodded. "Put the castle into lockdown. I don't care if it's your own mother, not a soul leaves the castle grounds until I see a lifeless, twitching body dangling from a rope, do you understand me?"

oooooooooooooooooo

"I'm not bein' funny or anything but... where is she?"

Robin rubbed his eyes tiredly. "It never goes smoothly... why does it never go smoothly?" He stood in the damp, unpleasant dungeons, leaning against the wet, black rock of the walls and staring at the definitely empty cells with a frown.

"So it was a trap after all," spat Will, banging his palm against the cell doors in frustration. "I bet the little harlot is guzzling grapes with the Sheriff right now, laughing at us."

"Hang on, we don't know that," protested Allan. His eyes were still darting about the dark dungeons, as though she were about to pop out of a corner at any moment. Despite all evidence to the contrary, he simply couldn't convince himself that she'd been lying to him. She'd just seemed honest to him, somehow.

"Then where is she, Allan?" Will shouted. "If she were really being imprisoned by the Sheriff wouldn't he keep her in, oh I don't know, the prison? Robin, we've got to get out of here before they notice us. It might already be too late."

Robin nodded slowly. "Djaq was right, we need to get out of here. That's the last time we take a stranger at face value." he added bitterly. He hated to admit it, but he had been taken in. The thought of some complete stranger aiding one of his men out of the goodness of her heart had been too encouraging to let go. Some days it felt like the six of them fighting against the world, without support or quarter. Even one person's aid meant something. He sighed, casting a last hopeful look around the dungeon. "Come on, lads, lets get out of here."

They tiptoed up the stone steps to the main hall, surprised at the lack of guards. There wasn't even a jailer on duty! Something about all of this didn't smell right. Robin gestured to the others to follow him and he took the hallway south, keeping close to the wall and his hand on the hilt of his sword. Suddenly he held up his hand, and Allan and Will stopped in response. They listened intently as a sickeningly familiar voice drifted in through the open window at the end of the coridoor.

"Oh Robin," sang the Sheriff in a self satisfied voice, "Come out, come out wherever you are!"

"What's he playing at?" asked Allan, puzzled, as Robin crept up to the window, careful to stay out of sight. The sight which met his eyes made him grit his teeth.

The portcullis had been lowered, and in front of the gate stood a line of nasty-looking guards, armed to the teeth. In every corner of the courtyard lurked a guard, and to the center, looking very smug and expectant, stood the Sheriff and Gisbourne.

"Come come now Robin," Vaysey continued, shouting to all who could hear. "You can't possibly escape the castle grounds. Either you give yourself up now, or we will drag you from your hidey-hole eventually. Would you rather die as a dog or as a man?"

Robin's lip curled. "I think I despise that man more each time I see him."

"I'm not being funny, Robin - how the hell are we going to get outta this one?"

Robin shook his head, leaning against the wall and closing his eyes. "I'll... I'll think of something.

Will let out his breath bitterly. "Very encouraging, thanks."

There was no getting around it - every single member of the gang was trapped within the castle grounds, with no one to rescue them on either side of the walls. Robin let out his breath in one long hiss of despair and turned away from the window.


	5. Chapter 5

I've recently become concerned about Mary-Sueishness. I realize that Lillian is pretty much a Mary-Sue, but I don't want her to be too stereotypical and perfect and… well, Mary-Sue. I rewrote some of the fight scenes in this chapter to make Lillian seem a little more flawed and out of her depth, but then she seemed wimpy so I gave her a few more smart-alec quips… basically, this chapter is a balancing act of me trying to stop her from coming off as either wimpy or unrealistically confident, adding a stupid error here, a clever plan there... Please let me know what you think, and if I should include a few more faults/triumphs to balance it off.

CHAPTER FIVE

The guards of Nottingham were not known for their imagination, and the sight of this bleeding, desperate woman incorrectly clutching a weapon far too long for her to use was absolutely the last thing they had expected to find when they'd opened the door to the garrison. There were two of them, fairly young men, rather new to the job. They wondered if this sort of thing happened often in Nottingham.

One reached sort of halfheartedly for his sword, but didn't draw it as the other simply stared at Lillian, puzzled. Woman and guards regarded one another for a long, confusing moment.

"Um... hello," Lillian said lamely. The guards nodded to her in greeting, still at a loss for words. "I'm... lost," she hazarded. Technically speaking, this was not a lie.

Her attempt to look innocent, harmless, and unsuspicious, however, was discredited by the fact that she was pointing a large halberd at them and showing no signs of lowering it. The taller of the two guards took a step towards her. "Look, I don't know what you're doing in here, but I think we'd better take you to the Sheriff," he said. Lillian shook her head.

"I can't let you do that," she said stubbornly, holding up the long halberd threateningly. The guards looked at her strangely.

"Now I don't want to hurt you-" one said cautiously.

"Suits me fine," interjected Lillian.

"-but we're taking you to the Sheriff," he finished firmly, drawing his sword.

Lillian was quick. She drew back her weapon, braced herself, and threw a whiplash-quick strike towards the nearest guard, in a sweeping downward stroke that...

...missed him completely.

"Oh," she said succinctly, "Sod."

She only barely managed to get the halberd up again in time to block the sword of the second guard, which cut into the wood of the handle with a sound like an axe chopping wood. The force of the blow sent her stumbling backwards, only barely able to keep upright. She dodged the second guard's swordstroke by a hairsbreadth, only to be suddenly stunned by his fist striking her bruised temple. She lost her grip on her weapon and toppled backwards into the rack of polearms, staves crashing around her. She shook her aching head in an attempt to clear it -- her head was swimming dizzyingly again, as though the guard's fist had reaffirmed her concussion.

Both guards had their swords raised now, tips pointing uncomfortably close to her throat. One of the guards (the nastier-looking of the two) sneered down at her. "Get up, slowly. We're taking you to the Sheriff."

Lillian shook her head mutely, eyes glancing frantically about the room. The halberd she had been using had been broken in two where the guard's sword had struck it when she fell backwards. Her hand darted out almost of its own accord and snatched up the broken weapon, using it to block the guard's swordstroke. In a mad jerk, she knocked his sword to the side and jabbed at his face with the broken end of her halberd. He staggered back, the splinters having torn up his cheek, and he let out a gasp of shock and pain.

Taking advantage of their momentary distraction, Lillian made a mad dash for the door, but the second guard reached forward and grasped her roughly by her hair. She hissed with pain and swung her halberd around, striking him hard across the cheek with the flat of the blade. His grip loosened, and Lillian tugged free, ducking under his arm and racing from the room. As she tore down the coridoor, spurred on by panic, she heard their calls for backup behind her and knew they had raised the alarm

The guards were encumbered by their armour, and shock had given Lillian a headstart, but now the alarm was raised it was only a matter of time before she ran into someone else. Feeling like a rat in a cat-infested maze, Lillian jumped up the stairs to the upper level of the castle, taking the steps three at a time and stumbling over her own feet. She hid herself in the shadows of a dim corner, struggling to catch her breath and praying for a few minutes of peace to think and form a plan.

Life, however, had other ideas. Adrenaline pounding in her head, Lillian caught the sound of slightly concealed footsteps, the rattle of arrows in a quiver, and the clanking of a sword in its scabbard. She tightened her grip on her broken weapon. She couldn't run and hide forever, and eluding the guards had given her a shot of confidence. She could no longer feel the pain in her leg and the fog in her brain had been replaced by heightened sharpness. No more hiding. If she struck first, she could take them by surprise and probably get away.

With a steadying breath and a wild scream, Lillian launched herself blindly around a corner at the guards, halberd raised above her head. A strong hand caught the shaft and yanked it away before she could react, far faster than she expected of the slow-witted guards. Fists acting of their own accord, she set her knuckles to the teeth of the hapless man, and turned on the other two. He bounced back from the punch quickly, however, and grabbed her from behind around the middle, pinning her arms to her sides. She kicked and struggled, but he held her fast.

"Bloody Hell, Robin, nice little left hook on this one!" the voice from behind her said thickly. "Calm down, will you, or you'll have us all caught," he hissed in her ear. His voice was familiar, and unthreatening enough to peirce through her panic-stricken battle rage. The other two men were staring at her, surprised, and had not drawn their weapons -- one, a sharp-faced man with pensieve dark eyes, the other a wiry one with one cocked eyebrow, holding an oddly curved bow.

When she was still, her panic somewhat drained from her, the man loosened his grip, and she turned around to see his face. She blinked.

"Man-in-the-hood!" She said curiously.

"Woman-with-the-lute," he countered with a grin. "Nice to see you alive."

Lillian smiled in relief for the first time in what seemed like years. "You too. These your friends?" she gestured to Will and Robin, who nodded. "Oh, God it's good to see a friendly face. Or at least a non-threatening one."

"Not being funny, love, but we thought you were working for the Sheriff," Allan said, and Lillian wrinkled her nose.

"I'll try not to take that personally." she said. Robin still looked suspicious.

"How did you escape the dungeons?" he asked, as though it were a test.

Lillian rolled her eyes. "I used my cunning, feminine wiles. Look, we've really, really got to go. They found me, and by now they'll have raised the alarm." she gestured emphatically behind her, where God knew how many armed guards were searching for her. It was only a matter of time before they checked the staircase.

"Hang on," interrupted Will. "We still don't know for sure she's not working for the Sheriff. How can we trust her?"

Lillian was practically dancing on the spot in her eagerness to move on. "Trust me, don't trust me, I really don't care, but we have got to go, and we've got to go now!"

Robin was about to reply when the clatter of armor and the call of "after them!" echoed through the halls. He seemed to make up his mind quickly.

"We don't have time for this," he insisted. An arrow clattered against the wall above his head. "Can we keep moving and talk later?"

"This way!" Lillian whispered loudly, pulling Allan by the arm and tearing down the coridoor away from the guards, quickly followed by the others. She darted through a heavy oak door to the empty servants' quarters.

"They'll check here," Robin protested. Lillian jammed the door shut and wedged a chair against it.

"Just shut up a moment, will you?" she whispered. The four companions held their breath as the footsteps echoed past.

"This way, look," one of the guards grunted. A few tense seconds later the coridoor was silent again.

"How did you know they'd go past?" Robin asked. Lillian gave a self-satisfied, sly smile.

"Footprints," she said smugly. "From earlier. I've run full-circle."

Sneaking cautiously into the empty coridoor, the gang looked down and saw that the floor was indeed marked with a row of footprints in long-dried blood, heading away from their hiding place. Any half-decent tracker would have known that this trail was long cold, but Nottingham guards are not known for their cunning.

"Nice work," said Robin, a little surprised. "But we still need a plan to escape the castle itself." He patted her shoulder in a reassuring sort of way, and gave her his best 'don't-worry-we'll-rescue-you' smile.

"They've lowered the portcullis," chipped in Will. "And the Sheriff has had the lever fitted with a lock."

"Oh," said Lillian, pleased. "Well, that's fine, because I've got-"

Robin ignored her. "Can you break the lock? Or pick it?" he asked Will.

"No need," Lillian tried again, irritated. "I have-"

Will shook his head as he interrupted. "We'll need to steal some keys from somewhere."

Lillian rolled her eyes, took the jailer's keys from her belt, and dangled them in front of Robin's face. "I don't mean to butt in here, but you might just want to borrow these," she said sarcastically. Allan let out a whoop of laughter, and Robin stared at the keys, slightly dumbfounded.

"Perfect. Now we know how you escaped," Allan said, chuckling. "Lets get a move on, shall we?"

Robin nodded. "If there's fighting," he said seriously to Lillian, "Stay close to one of us, we'll protect you."

Lillian was already hefting her broken halberd over her shoulder. "Protect me?" she snorted. "You couldn't even rescue me properly."

0000000000000000000

"HOOD!" The Sheriff's screams echoed through the castle courtyard, and all who listened shrank as small as they could to avoid his notice. His face was the colour of beetroot and he positively growled like a rabid dog, showing his imperfect teeth. "I know you're still here, Hood, lurking in the shadows like a coward. Like a DOG! Some hero you turn out to be," he spat. "Search every cursed nook and cranny, do you hear me? He can't have escaped, the castle is in lockdown," he hissed to Gisbourne, who nodded.

There was a good deal of scuffling, but no results. Gradually, a sound became audible over the guards' pointless searching and the Sheriff's red-faced screeching. That sound was a song.

The Sheriff froze. "What's that sound? What is that?" he growled. The song grew louder, but its source was difficult to pinpoint. The voice was female, clear, and impudent. The Sheriff swelled like a bullfrog at her obvious mockery. "It's the woman, Hood's little lapdog, it must be," he hissed. "Wherever and whoever is singing, I want her caught and hanged, do you hear me?" he shouted to his guards. The Sheriff was indiscriminately enraged now, lashing out at whoever was closest. Guards were diverted from their posts, searching the courtyard and battlements for the mysteriously singing woman. The sound reverberated around the stone walls so much that tracing its source was almost impossible, and the guards were beginning to look foolish, milling around one another to search for the mysterious noise.

Lillian's head popped up from the battlements above, an incredibly amicable smile on her face. Gisbourne caught sight of her, and called for the guards, pointing. A few of them rushed for the stairs to the battlements, while all eyes turned to the impish face peering down at them.

"Hello," Lillian said pleasantly, with a polite little half-bow. "I'm a diversion."

"You're a..." The Sheriff stared at her stupidly for a moment before his horrified ears caught the sound of gears grinding at one another.

"THE GATE!!" He had been so distracted by the odd singing he hadn't noticed the entourage of guards who had approached the switch to the portcullis and begun to crank it up. Guards who were not guards at all, but ragged outlaws in clever disguise. Guards (real guards) rushed to stop them, spurred by the Sheriff's hysterical cries, but were met by three very violent "vegetable merchants" as Djaq, John, and Much drew their weapons and leapt from their cart.

The battle was tense and the outlaws outnumbered as always, but their path to the gate was clear. Now the Portcullis was up, they just had to fight their way through it. With a harsh battle cry, Allan, Robin, and Will leaped into the fray with their comrades. Lillian scurried down the steps towards the courtyard, making a break for the vegetable wagon. A guard stepped in her way halfway down the steps. Lillian swayed precariously; there was no railing and the stone steps were treacherous.

"I never hurt a woman before," he said nervously, drawing his sword. In different circumstances, Lillian might have felt sorry for him, too guilty to follow orders, too stupid not to. In this situation, however, he was just an obstacle between herself and freedom, and she raised her makeshift weapon. He blocked her attack with his sword and struck towards her in a downward stroke, which grazed her shoulder.

An arrow zinged past Lillian's cheek, and the guard backed off, clutching a bleeding arm. She looked down to see Robin on the vegetable cart, gesturing to her.

"Jump!" He shouted. She launched herself into the air, falling towards the cart with frightening speed. Allan, crouched in the back, half-caught her, and they both fell back heavily, winded. Most of the guards between the cart and the open portcullis had been dealt with, and the outlaws were beginning to gather around the vegetable cart.

Robin whipped the horses, and called to his gang, who leapt to the cart and clambered on as it built up speed towards the open gate. As the guards began to give chase. John struggled across the back and kicked open the back panel of the vegetable cart, sending the round turnips rolling out along the road behind them.

The turnips were a small hinderance to a man on foot, but they terrified and tripped up the horses, who whinneyed nervously and refused to give chase. The cart thundered away at top speed, far too fast for a man on foot to follow, while the panicking horses danced about, blocking the gate.

The wind in their hair, the outlaws thundered towards the horizon, looking back at the confusion in amused triumph. The sounds of hoofbeats weren't quite enough to cover the outlaws' triumphant laughter, or the Sheriff's enraged screams as they stole away into the fresh morning.


	6. Chapter 6

Once again, thank you to everyone who read and reviewed. This is the final chapter of the first story in a trilogy, and I hope you enjoy.

0000000000000000000000

The high of the escape had mostly diminished, but still lingered in the outlaw's camp that afternoon in Sherwood, giving an air of pleasant electricity and good spirits. The sounds of the Sheriff's tantrum as they'd escaped still echoed in the back of their minds, satisfied smiles on their faces.

As the midday sun warmed the forest and turned the leaves above them golden-green, the outlaws lounged about camp in a self-satisfied sort of way, chewing on their late lunch. The only two who did not display a general sense of well-being were Lillian (her face screwed up in pain) and Djaq (impatiently trying to doctor her wounds). Lillian was lying on her side, leg propped against a fallen log, as Djaq set a needle and thread to the gash, 'tut-tutting' as hard as she possibly could.

"Tied with a dirty rag," she muttered to herself. "It will be a wonder if you don't catch a fever." Lillian was proving a difficult patient, squirming and complaining, and Djaq was not inclined to be gentle.

Lillian let out a loud yelp. "God's wounds, Djaq, that hurts!" she whined. Djaq rolled her eyes. She was rapidly running out of sympathy.

"I'm sewing you up with a blunt needle, of course it hurts. Hold still." She tied off, relieved the ordeal was over, and gestured to Lillian that she was free to go. Lillian sat up gingerly, stretching her leg out before her, with a curt nod of thanks.

"I bet you're pleased to be free," Much said jovially. "Ready to go find your next position as court musician?"

For the first time, Lillian's face crumpled a little, and she sighed. "Right," she muttered sarcastically. "All those opportunities, so little time..."

She was examining her lute meticulously, her nose barely an inch away from the polished wood. When they had arrived at camp, Allan had revealed that he had found the instrument on the ground in Locksley, where it had fallen during her flight from Gisbourne. She had taken it with stammers of extreme gratitude, and since then she kept poring over its surface, searching for minute cracks and flaws as though terrified it had been harmed in her absence. With a sharp exhale, she seemed satisfied, and the slung the lute across her back. She pulled the strap of her pack across her shoulder and stood up gingerly (still favoring her injured leg).

Her smile was a little sad as she looked over the outlaws. She had only just met them, and yet she felt drawn to them in a way that was hard to define. She sighed. "I can't thank you enough," she began, haltingly.

"Don't bother," interrupted Allan kindly. "It was my stupid fault you got captured in the first place."

Lillian smiled her lopsided smile and inclined her head slightly. "Still, though," she persisted. "You didn't have to come for me. Thank you."

"Where will you go?" asked Robin.

Lillian sighed, looking apprehensive. "Oh, you know," she joked feebly. "Fame, fortune and that. I guess I'll… I'll just keep looking for work."

With a final goodbye, she turned away as if to leave, but hesitated by the edge of camp. She stood there for a long moment, before seeming to make a decision. With a sharp exhale she turned around, revealing that she was blushing furiously.

"Listen, I… um…" she stuttered. "I don't… have anywhere to go."

She squirmed in the silence that followed, unaccustomed to asking for help and excruciatingly embarrassed. She looked at Allan.

"You were right, before, when you called me proud," she told him softly. "I hadn't eaten in two days when you found me, and was too stubborn to admit it and take your money. When I first took to the road I was so sure I could make my own living, I thought it would be easy, so long as I was willing to live without luxuries or comforts. All I needed was my music."

She leaned against a tree, staring at her feet, ashamed. "At first, I tried taverns, but working men don't have the coin to spend on little pleasures like song. I played for one wedding, but even that paid very little, and no lords seemed to want or need a court musician. These are hard times even for the most basic tradesmen, but for minstrels – especially women minstrels – work is almost impossible to find. So I was wondering… do you have need for another member of your gang?"

To Lillian's great surprise and hope, the gang seemed to take her proposal seriously, looking at one another with appraising looks on their faces. Her spirits began to rise hopefully, her blush to fade, and a few of her more cheeky mannerisms began to show themselves.

"Well," began Much, who always had an opinion to lend (even when no one wanted to hear it) "I for one would like to know more about you before taking you in. I mean, we've only just met you, after all…"

Lillian gave a small, mock bow. "Lillian of Westershire, at your service. I sing, I dance, I play several instruments, I... well, its mostly those three things, actually, but I do them really well..."

"Brilliant", Much snorted. "Next time the Sheriff comes for us you'll break into a chorus of "Greensleeves" and he'll run away terrified, will he?"

"He might if _you_ sang it, Much," Robin pointed out with a grin.

"A song has more use than you might think," Lillian said wisely. "If nothing else, it keeps your heart light even when life is not. It seems to me you might need something to lift your spirits these days. And I can be helpful to you in other ways. I'm a fast talker, and my brother taught me to draw a bow when I was young – I'm not a bad shot," she added proudly

"What about a sword. Have you ever been in combat?" Robin asked. Lillian shrugged.

"Well, I'm fast on my feet," she hazarded. "I took down a couple of the Sheriff's useless guards in the castle. I'm sure I could learn to be useful with a sword, if you gave me time"

"Not to mention you knocked Gisbourne out cold with that lute of yours," added Allan. "There's a sight I'd pay to see again."

"What do you all reckon?" Robin asked of the others. "Could we use another sword arm in this gang?"

"It's not like we have applicants banging down the door," shrugged Will.

"It's not like we even have a door," quipped Allan. "Anyone mad enough to want to join us is welcome, I say."

Robin stood up, and walked to Lillian, placing a hand on her shoulder. "You understand, it will be dangerous," he said solemnly. "Life in the forest is hard, and we will not always be able to keep you safe."

"Nor would I want you to," she countered quickly. "A little risk, a little danger… it makes for good lyrics and exciting ballads." She grinned, leaving Robin a little uneasy. She was taking this too lightly. He wanted to tell her life was not a ballad, not a fairy tale where the good guys always won, but he sighed and held his tongue. She would learn that quickly enough.

Robin forced a grin, and slapped Lillian on the back. "Make the woman a tag, Will," he announced. "She's here to stay."

000000000000000000000000

The Sheriff had screamed himself hoarse, kicked any guards foolish enough to come near him, and thrown several heavy objects at Gisbourne's head, and still felt no better. Eventually, he had resorted to pacing his study with an agitated step, like a caged animal. Hood had escaped, again! He took a deep swig of some exorbitantly expensive red wine.

Sir Guy lurked in the corner like a whipped dog, wishing harder than ever to be somewhere else. Still, the Sheriff had summoned him, and he couldn't leave before hearing him out, not without incurring his wrath and still more flying heavy objects.

"He's probably laughing at right now, Gisbourne," Vaysey muttered madly. "Laughing… oh, I'd love to wipe that smile off his smug, adolescent face. See if he can laugh as he dangles from a rope."

"My lord, nothing has changed," Gisbourne said cautiously. "We still have the men, power and money, and we will get him eventually."

"No, not eventually," Vaysey spat. "Soon. I am sick of these games, Gisbourne. I am so bloody sick of watching him run off into the sunset again and again. No, we're going after him. No more waiting, no more games. I will have his head on a spike by winter."

"By winter?" Gisbourne said carefully. Summer was beginning to draw to a close, and the evenings already had a bite of chill to them. "I take it you have a plan, my lord?"

Vaysey stopped pacing and nodded slowly. "I have made a few new connections of late, Gisbourne, connections I can use to our advantage…"

Guy cocked an eyebrow. "Connections, my lord?"

Vaysey waved a hand dismissively. "Need-to-know basis, Gisbourne. Enough to say that new tactics are in order for the disposal of our dear Robin Hood."

He sat himself at his desk and pulled out a sheaf of parchment, scribbling quickly in his disjointed, messy scrawl. When he was finished, he folded it, sealed it, and pulled out a bag of gold coins from his belt. He handed both the letter and purse to Gisbourne.

"Take these, and go to my chamber. At my door will be waiting a young man, one Robert of Durham. An old friend, and supporter to our… cause. He will know the destination of the letter. Oh, don't sulk, Gisbourne," he added, seeing the look of suppressed irritation on Sir Guy's face. "I will tell you the details when the time is right. Now," he sneered, gesturing condescendingly. "Run along."

Fuming at his unfair treatment, that some nobody from Durham should know more about the Sheriff's plans than he did, Gisbourne did as he was bidden. The parchment crumpled slightly in his tightly gripped fist.

00000000000000000000000000

A merry fire crackled at the heart of camp, creating a warm circle of light to encase the outlaws, well fed and drowsy, and keep away the dark and shadows. Beside it lay a pile of firewood collected by the overenthusiastic Lillian, who, in an attempt to demonstrate how helpful she could be, had gathered half the forest into a firewood pile that the wouldn't finish burning for at least a week.

Much's stew, as tasteless as ever, had been nonetheless welcome to the hungry outlaws, and disappeared in a matter of minutes. The outlaws reclined in the circle of warm light, staring at the hypnotically dancing fire. Lillian lay with her back against her leather sack, her lute across her lap, in much the same position she had been in when Allan had first set eyes on her. She was strumming at her instrument, not melodiously, but haltingly and with difficulty, constantly hitting sour notes and repeating herself. The song she sang was but half written, and the tune still uncertain, so she couldn't play with her usual fluidity.

"Come… come listen to me, you gallants so free,

All you that… love mirth for to hear,

And I will you tell of a bold outlaw,

That lived in Nottinghamshire."

(Here she paused for a few moments, arranging her fingers on the neck of the lute, before continuing)

"As Robin Hood in the forest stood,

All under the green-wood tree…"

There was a short pause. "What rhymes with tree?" she asked of her companions.

"See?" suggested Much

"Free?" added Robin.

"Bugger-me?" piped up Allan (and had several things thrown at him).

Lillian gave up in frustration, and wrapped her instrument carefully in softly-tanned leather before setting it aside.

"I can't believe you're writing a song about that little ponce," Allan continued, jabbing a thumb at Robin, who kicked him.

"A ballad has got to have a hero," Lillian laughed. "Ponce or no."

"Then make me the hero!" Allan suggested with a grin. "Who wants to hear a song about a scrawny, scruffy hero like him anyway?" Robin kicked him again, harder this time, and he shut up.

As the night got darker and colder, Much went to bed, and several of the others fell into quiet conversation. Lillian strummed quietly at her instrument, having temporarily given up on composing her song, and the gentle wash of song set an air of relaxed contentment about the camp. Allan threw himself down beside her, much the same as he had done the first time they had met, and listened to her play for a few minutes.

"So are you on the run, or what?" he asked, a half smile on his face. His voice was hushed enough that the others, immersed in thought or conversation, didn't notice. Lillian looked up sharply, then down again, attempting nonchalance.

"Why would you think that?"

"A few reasons," Allan began, reclining against a tree and sounding quite pleased with himself. "For one thing, your accent. You try and sound like a peasant but you can't quite pull it off. You talk like someone with money and schooling. And most common girls can't even afford a lute like that, let alone have the time to learn to play it. Am I right?" Lillian was silent, but did not meet his eyes.

"So you were born to money, but you choose to live in the forest like a hermit? Somethin' there doesn't sound right to me. So you're hiding from someone, yeah? And Sherwood is the best place to do that, trust me. What could a pretty little thing like you be so afraid of you'd live in the dirt with us?" His eyes were on her now, inquisitive and yet intense. She avoided them, keeping her eyes on her hands. When she spoke her voice was carefully drained of emotion.

"Are you going to tell Robin of your suspicions?" she asked quietly.

Allan shook his head. "No reason to. All of us here are hiding from something, and I don't reckon you're a spy or nothing. I'm just interested, that's all."

"If I were on the run from something, Allan-A-Dale, I wouldn't be likely to blurt it out the the first tavern trickster I met, now would I," shot Lillian, one eyebrow raised impudently. Allan shrugged.

"I guess not," he admitted with a small laugh. "But I'll find out sooner or later, you can bet on that."

"Listen," Lillian said suddenly, with an edge of nervousness. She was quietly intense, and stopped playing and spoke every word with slow deliberation. "For now, Allan, just let it be. I'm a lutemaker's daughter, and that's all you need to know, alright?"

He sighed, a little irritated by the teasing mystery, but could tell it was important to her, so he let the matter slide and leaned back, letting out a long, hissing exhale.

As the outlaws began to feel the tug of sleep come upon them, they listened quietly to the lulling sound of the music accompanied by the rhythmic crackling of the fire. After a while, Lillian broke out into song, softly so as not to wake those who had gone to bed, but with a kind of quiet intensity. Music can tell the truth where words fall short, and this song (an old tune many had heard before) ached with something primally true. They couldn't help but listen, as though it were the song of the sirens themselves.

There were three gypsies a come to my door,

And downstairs ran this lady, O!

One sang high and another sang low,

And the other sang bonny, bonny, Biscay, O!

Then she pulled off her silk finished gown

And put on hose of leather, O!

The ragged, ragged, rags about our door,

She's gone with the wraggle taggle gypsies, O!

It was late last night, when my lord came home,

Enquiring for his a-lady, O!

The servants said, on every hand,

She's gone with the wraggle taggle gypsies, O!

O saddle to me my milk-white steed,

Go and fetch me my pony, O!

That I may ride and seek my bride,

Who is gone with the wraggle taggle gypsies, O!

O he rode high and he rode low,

He rode through woods and copses too,

Until he came to an open field,

And there he espied his a-lady, O!

What makes you leave your house and land?

What makes you leave your money, O?

What makes you leave your new wedded lord?

To go with the wraggle taggle gypsies, O!

What care I for my house and my land?

What care I for my money, O?

What care I for my new wedded lord?

I'm off with the wraggle taggle gypsies, O!

Last night you slept on a goose-feather bed,

With the sheet turned down so bravely, O!

And to-night you'll sleep in a cold open field,

Along with the wraggle taggle gypsies, O!

What care I for a goose-feather bed?

With the sheet turned down so bravely, O!

For to-night I shall sleep in a cold open field,

Along with the wraggle taggle gypsies, O!

THE END

Author's Note:

That's it! Feels good to have it finished. Thank you so much, everyone, for sticking with it this far. The sequel to this story, the 'Tavern Trickster', is now up and progressing steadily, with the third story in the trilogy, 'The Jealous Knight', to follow. You can find them through my profile page. Thanks for reading!

Just a note about the songs: The song Lillian was writing in this chapter is in fact the first two stanzas of Child Ballad 138, "Robin Hood and Allen a Dale". I'm planning to borrow elements of the next two fics from old folk ballads, as though Lillian had written them during her time with the outlaws. The story of "Robin Hood and Allen a Dale" is also a strong influence on the story of the final fic of the trilogy, so don't go off and read it if you don't want to have the ending spoiled.

The second song, "Wraggle Taggle Gypsies", is dated back to the 1700s, a little later than the fic is set, but I couldn't resist the parallels between the song and the story, and I thought it would be a nice way to end the fic, so I hope you will excuse any historical inaccuracies.


End file.
